


Brilliant as a Star

by Tabithian



Series: Drake Investigations [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Nightwing (Comic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 21:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So this is the thing, really, Tim thinks, rushing for his first-aid kit. The thing is that whenever he's expecting a slow night, actually looking forward to it, things like this happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brilliant as a Star

**Author's Note:**

> An old snippet I found in my WiP folder that I cleaned up because I grew up on 80s television and developed a deep and abiding love for private investigators. Also, Tim doesn't become Robin, his parents don't die, and the events of A Death in the Family didn't happen. ...I don't know, either. /o\

So this is the thing, really, Tim thinks, rushing for his first-aid kit. The thing is that whenever he's expecting a slow night, actually looking forward to it, things like this happen. Behind him he hears a pained groan as he slaps the bathroom light on, and pulls the first-aid kit out of the cradle on the wall. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the bathroom mirror in the moment before he runs back into the living room.

Nightwing's slumped against Tim's couch, breathing slow and even. Measured. There's a nasty cut on his forehead, bleeding sluggishly. One of the lenses on his mask is gone, revealing a startlingly blue eye. He's watching Tim.

Tim swallows and flicks on the lamp on a low end-table, kneels next to him. "Hey," Tim says, striving for calm and almost making it. "Let me see."

Nightwing hesitates, like _now_ he's concerned about involving a civilian, like maybe it was a bad idea to go to Tim for help, which. "Seriously?" Tim asks, raising an eyebrow. "Now. You choose now to remember the whole secret identity thing."

Nightwing doesn't quite smile, not with the mess someone's fist made his mouth, but Tim can see the way it hits his eye, the slight crinkle. "Ridiculous," Tim mutters, moving closer. After a moment, Nightwing pulls his arm away to reveal a deep gash in his side, still bleeding. Tim breathes deep and opens the first aid kit - and maybe he was a bit on the paranoid side, but this is Gotham, and a store-bought kit isn't made for Gotham. 

Tim's taken first-aid courses, more for his own reasons than the fact his parents think it makes for good press for Drake Industries. That their son has taken certified courses at the hospital they throw charity fundraisers every year adds a certain level to whatever articles are written about them. As if Tim is doing it to further their agenda, and not because Gotham isn't the safest city, Batman and his people aside.

Tim helps him get the top half of his suit off, and he can feel Nightwing's eyes on him as he cleans the wound. He frowns when he gets a better look at it. Bad, but not life-threatening. He looks up at Nightwing, the bruising he can see corning along the side of his face.

"What?" 

Tim looks at Nightwing. "It's going to need stitches." It's almost a question. Tim can do it, but it would be better if someone with an actual medical training looked at the wound. And while he can understand that Nightwing might not want to go to a hospital - they tend to frown on secret identities after all - there are other options. It begs the question as to why Nightwing had decided to go to Tim instead of whoever fixes broken Bats. 

Tim raises an eyebrow, and Nightwing huffs out a quiet laugh. "A patch job will be fine," Nightwing says. "My ride's on its way." 

Tim sighs, doing as he asked. Nightwing's still watching him, like. Like Tim doesn't know. "There," Tim says, sitting back on his heels to examine his work. "That should be okay for now."

Nightwing smiles, and Tim. It doesn't matter how many times that smile is directed his way, it always hits Tim the same way. 

"Thanks," Nightwing says, still smiling. "And, uh. Sorry about barging in, I guess."

Tim rolls his eyes because no, he's not. He may feel bad about the circumstances, but. No, Nightwing is not sorry for this. And then, because he's kind of an idiot, Nightwing stands up, or tries to. He doesn't quite make it, and Tim barely catches him before he can hurt himself further.

"Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?" he asks, helping him sit on the couch. "You said someone's coming to get you, right? Just. Sit down."

Nightwing makes a hilariously confused/bewildered face and does just that. 

"Shut up," Tim says, not caring if he's not supposed to know it's Dick sitting on his couch looking like he went a few rounds with one of Gotham's crazies, because _really._

Nightwing grins, sudden and bright and, oh, Tim is so, so screwed. 

********

"Tim!"

Tim stops, turns to see Dick headed for him, smiling widely and waving at him like they're not at one of Gotham's endless charity fundraisers. Bruce is somewhere inflicting the horrible abomination that is "Brucie" on Gotham's socialites, and Tim is so very, very happy he's not one of them. Jason and Damian snuck away hours ago, presumably to remind Gotham's criminal element that Batman isn't the only protector she has. 

Dick's moving easily, freely, which. Good. It's been a little over a week since Nightwing dropped in on him, and. Just. Nice to know he's okay. 

Dick wraps an arm around Tim's shoulders and pulls him in for a hug, _real_ , and some of the tension bleeds out of Tim because this, at least, is Dick. "Hey, Timmy," Dick says, warm and affectionate. "Haven't seen you at these things for a while."

Tim smiles, letting Dick manhandle him as they wander through the crowd. "I've been busy," he says, which. Partly true. His parents may have let him get away with his "act of teenage rebellion" in opening up a private investigation business - but he's still expected to fulfill his duties with regards to Drake Industries. 

Dick laughs, sliding a look at Tim that's all too knowing. "That and you hate these kind of things, right?"

Tim's smile widens because, yes, more than true, but. "Little bit." 

Dick _hmms_ , arm tightening around Tim's shoulder when one of the reporters zoom in on them because they're their own kind of scandal, rich boys turned cop and private investigator respectively.

Tim pastes on a the smile he uses for reporters and Drake Industries business, and opens his mouth to say something, but then hears, "Timothy! How nice to see you!" 

Tim's eyes widen as Bruce approaches them, something in his posture sending the reporter scurrying, and then there's "Brucie" standing in front of them, hand extended to Tim. Tim smiles faintly and shakes his hand, wondering if Bruce _knows_. He wouldn't put it past the man.

"Likewise, Mr. Wayne," he says, manners and etiquette drilled into him saving him from saying something truly stupid, like, say, _I know you're Batman_. 

Bruce smiles at him, but the look in his eyes. Honestly, Tim doesn't know how anyone could ever mistake Bruce Wayne as being harmless, an idiot. 

And then, because Bruce takes an unholy sort of joy from Brucie, starts regaling Dick and Tim with a mildly horrifying story of one of his trips overseas. Dick still has his arm around him, silently shaking with laughter as Bruce throws in hand gestures, and Tim. Tim hates this whole thing a little less. 

********

"...You really need to not make this a habit," Tim says, hauling Nightwing's arm around his shoulders. "I mean, flattering, sure, but. Probably not the best thing for you."

Nightwing laughs, soundless, more of an exhale of breath. "You're probably right."

Tim shakes his head, careful as he helps Nightwing to the overturned packing crate. "I'll make you a deal," he says, taking hold of Nightwing's chin and lifting his head. "I'll try not to take cases that have a high probability of ending in painful death, you stop getting _this_." Tim gestures at Nightwing with his other hand, because he can't really tell what his injuries are. Blunt trauma from the crowbar, sure, but oh, hey, that mark on his shoulder looks a little like powder burn, so. 

The lenses are up on Nightwing's mask, the better to check for signs of a concussion, which, thankfully, there are none. Tim pulls back, watching Nightwing watching him.

"Somehow," Nightwing says, mouth quirking. "I'm having a hard time believing you."

Tim shrugs. It's not his fault his cases have a tendency to end up with all the shooting and stabbing and on one particular occasion, explosions. "I like to live dangerously." Only he doesn't, really, is the thing. Things just...happen to him.

"Right." 

Tim's eyes narrow. He knows that was meant to be less pained wheeze and more, well, _Nightwing_. "You have no room to judge," he points out. "You're the one who actively goes looking for trouble." Tim smiles, rueful. "Trouble finds me."

Nightwing says something about Soviet Russia that Tim pretends he didn't hear because costumed vigilantes really shouldn't be quoting internet memes. 

"Your ride on the way?" he asks.

Nightwing blinks at him, and, sure. That was a dumb question. "Yeah, okay," Tim says. It really kind of was. 

********

"I," Dick declares, throwing his arms wide. "Have a mystery for you to solve."

Tim gives him an distinctly unimpressed look. "Do tell." This, he thinks, may well be the first time Dick's shown up at his office not bleeding for the first time in weeks. Also, not in his Nightwing suit, so. 

Dick grins, all bright teeth and impending mischief, and Tim is helpless before it. "What," Dick asks. "Did I have for lunch?"

And this. This is Dick, and also Tim's life, and why did he ever expect anything different just because Dick is also Nightwing and kind of a terrible person?

Tim's kind of a terrible person too, though, so he just says, "Dick, I don't think even Batman could figure that one out." 

Dick gives him a _look_ \- does he know? - but it's gone before Tim can say anything.

"Really? Interesting, but not the reason I came down here."

Tim raises an eyebrow. He's not working on anything at the moment, business is slow sometimes, and Dick is Dick, so. "Enlighten me."

He gets another blinding smile for that. "Oh, Timmy, do I have a story for you."

He does, actually, but it's less mystery and more stupid things Jason and Damian do, with a side of, "and then Titus pulled them into the lake" to round things off because mysterious vengeance of the night aside, the Waynes belong in some kind of sitcom.

Tim realized that way back, when he was younger and his parents didn't have time for him and there were just. Doors. That he could open if he put effort into it, and he wandered. Not necessarily chasing after something as just exploring and oh, look, there are the neighbors. 

There are things Tim could be doing - just because business is slow doesn't mean he can slack off, but. Dick is smiling and happy in this moment telling Tim about Jason and Damian's latest misadventures, and. Well, it's not exactly a hardship, is it.

********

There's a certain kind of irony to be had here. Private investigator who completely fails to realize his parents are maybe not completely on the up and up. Someone whose parents may have had some dealings with the criminal underworld. The criminal underworld who may not have a problem using their son as a warning, or an example, and.

It's a nice feeling to know that there are people out there who care about him, even _like_ him. It's less okay to know they see him as a kind of damsel in distress because he's not, really, really not, but. It's nice to know someone will come looking if something happens to him.

And as much as Tim appreciates Nightwing showing up to save the day, he'd rather Nightwing didn't if it means he's going ton get hurt because of it. Knowing he's the reason Nightwing is here in the first place, that he got hurt coming after Tim, that he got captured by goons who want both of them very, very dead? 

It's not worth it. 

"Okay, _really_ ," Tim says. "I promise not to make fun of your taste in movies or, like. Suit design if you don't die, okay? I promise." Although, really, there's so much fodder for mockery in Dick's early suit designs. 

"Ha!" Nightwing says. "You just don't appreciate high fashion."

And, just. Well, _no_. "I'm sorry," Tim says, overly polite. "I didn't realize disco was high fashion."

Nightwing laughs, reaches up to ruffle Tim's hair. "Brat."

And that's. That's more Dick than Nightwing, and letting Dick keep doing this, letting him pop in and out of Tim's life while dressed as a vigilante was a bad mistake. The worst.

"Nightwing - "

The side of the warehouse they're being held prisoner in chooses to explode at that moment, and puts an end to anything Tim might have said. 

Nightwing covers Tim, protecting him from flying debris. He can't see what's going on, but the goons are yelling and shooting wildly and every so often there's the sound of a fist or foot hitting flesh, and the voices drop out one by one.

"Hey, Dicsowing. Great job on the rescue."

Tim shoves Dick off him and looks up to see Red Robin and actual Robin standing in front of them, both seriously unimpressed with Nightwing's everything. 

"I had everything under control," Nightwing says, blatantly lying.

Red Robin smirks and actual Robin crosses his arms, looking even more unimpressed, as if that's possible.

"...Shut up." Nightwing tries to stand, but oh, look at that, no he can't.

"Stay down," Tim says to him, and turns to Red Robin and actual Robin. "He got stabbed," he says, gesturing the to the remains of his shirt tied around Nightwing's leg. 

"Just a little!" Nightwing says, like there's such a thing. "It's nothing, I'm fine. Really."

"Yeah?" Red Robin says, moving in to help. "Try telling that to Dad, see how far that gets you."

********

And back to the thing about Tim's life, because. Because.

"Dick?"

Dick leans back in the visitor's chair across from Tim, hands steepled on his stomach. He's watching Tim, like. Like Nightwing watches Tim, and. 

"How long have you known?" Dick asks, only it's Nightwing asking.

Tim stares at him. Thinks about lying - never a good idea with a Bat, and also, it's _Dick_. "Since I was nine." 

"...Nine."

Tim shrugs, not the best idea he's ever had because he didn't exactly get away unscathed the other night. "Give or take." 

Dick's eyes narrow. "Give or take."

Tim rolls his eyes. "Polly want a cracker?"

Dick snorts, some of the hardness leaving his eyes. "...Brat."

"Why are you here, Dick?"

"I'm not sure." But he is, Tim can see it.

"Right," Tim says. Waits.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Dick asks, like he trusts that Tim hasn't told anyone, and that's. 

"Why would I do that?" Tim asks in exchange, because _why_? 

Dick frowns. "Nine."

"Dick - "

"Bruce wants to talk to you."

Because that's not a terrifying thought at all. "This me being not surprised," Tim says.

Dick _hmms_. "I can see that."

"So, now?" Tim asks. He's. He's not _not_ busy, because there are surprisingly a lot of things that need to be done when one's family has been conducting illegal business deals with criminals, and, well. That whole thing where he was kidnapped and almost died, so. Things to do, things to do.

"No," Dick says, frowning slightly. "He said he'll find you." 

Again, not a terrifying thought at all. 

"So." Dick shrugs, because to him getting a visit from the goddamned Batman just means family time. God, what is Tim doing with his life? Dick smiles. "You want to maybe, I don't know, get lunch?"

Tim stares at Dick with that hopeful smile on his face and bruises under his shirt and a limp from getting stabbed to protect Tim. Dick, who is also a vigilante with a failed sense of fashion design and Tim's old neighbor. Dick. Just. Dick. 

This whole...thing has a high chance of turning into a horrible disaster - terror of the night and private investigator - or turning into the premise of a horrible television show. Fifty-fifty either way, but.

"Sure," Tim says, smiling a little, because it's not as though Tim's any sort of normal himself, and barely restrains himself from asking what could possibly go wrong because it's _Gotham _. "Sounds good."__

Dick grins, all white teeth and irrepressible charm and Tim's never been able to say no to that, which probably should have clued him in years ago.

**Author's Note:**

> Now with fantastic podfic recorded by thesensibleone13!
> 
>  
> 
> [Brilliant as a Star](https://soundcloud.com/tabithian/brilliant-as-a-star) (Soundcloud)
> 
> [Brilliant as a Star](http://www.mediafire.com/?qhk9vaqrb1j7nzq) (Mediafire)


End file.
